The Ties that Bind
by Navar
Summary: This is going to be an ongoing saga of the GI Joe team, as it happened in my universe and in my mind. PG-13 for strong language at times.
1. The Return

(Author's Note: This takes place in my GI Joe universe. The stories are sometimes based on my scenarios for them, sometimes from the explanations I came up with for the times that certain figures were lost, and some parts from my imagination as I write this.h I came of age for them during the early 90's, so some of my characters may not be the more popular ones from the 80's, and they may be different from your ideas of what the characters should be like. My first three GI Joes were Duke, Zap, and Gung-Ho, so it's only proper for the story to start with them).  
  
CHAPTER ONE: The Return  
  
The year was 1992. For a time, it appeared as if things were better in the world. The Soviet Union had collapsed, the Cold War was over, and Cobra had been all but unheard of for nearly a year. It appeared as if they had finally been shut down. With the end of the Cold War came new budget cuts, and the GI Joe team was disbanded.  
  
Just the moment that they had been waiting for.  
  
(Cobra Island)  
  
"What news is it that you have for me now?" asked the masked man, drapped in blue, with a slight hissing to the 's's  
  
The other man approached. His appearance was bizarre, to say the least. A tall man, he dressed in fine clothing, but wore a metal mask to hide his face.  
  
"Only good things now, Commander," he said, a Scottish lilt to his voice. "One of my agents inside the US government has confirmed what we have suspected. GI Joe is disbanded."  
  
Through the mask's eyeholes, a look of joy could be seen.  
  
"Very good, Destro, this is very good news indeed . . . Begin contacting our operatives. I believe it is time that we let the world know that Cobra is still very much alive."  
  
(Khazakstan)  
  
The night was dark now, it was the small hours of the morning. The missile facility was heavily guarded, and patrolmen walked the night. Silently, unknown the guards, a man fell to the ground behind them. Then another, and another. Slowly, the unsheathed their swords, and before they knew what had hit them, several of theguards were dead. Still, no one knew what was going on.  
  
Into the facility the three men ran, undetected by the guard systems. One of them planted a small explosive charge at the door, and they backed up before it detonated. Before the smoke had a chance to clear, they charged into the building, finding the guards who had been nearby thoroughly confused. They didn't stand a chance.  
  
Along the corridors they raced, until they found the room they had been looking for. Outside it, two guards stood, brandishing their weapons. One of them shouted something in Russian.  
  
The man in white looked at his companions, and one removed two throwing stars from his strap. As the guards prepared to fire on the intruders, the blades of steel caught them in the neck.  
  
And into the room the three men charged.  
  
(Washington, DC)  
  
In a corridor in the Pentagon, three men were lead in silence down a hallway to a briefing room. To the left walked a man of average height and build, with dark hair and a moustache. His hair was longer than it had been the last time the men had met, and he had the look of a man who had been cooped up for too long. To the right walked a shorter man, stocky and bald, with a bushy brown mustache. He walked with the walk of a man who had seen more than he'd wanted to, and looked uncomfortable in the crisp Marine unifrom he was wearing. In the middle of them walked the tallest of the three, over six feet, with blond hair and blue eyes. He had a stoic look to him, not showing anything other than the little his eyes would give away, and that was a bit of curiosity. But to the men standing next to him, they gave away much more. He was curious, yes, but also nervous and very frustrated.  
  
They reached the room that they were being led to, and the door opened to reveal a conference room, with a long table in the middle and a projection screen off to one side. There were no windows, and all the light came from the generic lights overhead.  
  
At the table sat two men. One had brown hair, and wore a brown officer's uniform of the Russian military, and a blue cap with a red star still on it. The other, older, was an American, a general, who rose when the three men stepped into the room.  
  
"Sergeants, its good to see you," he said, with a faint smile on his face. "Take a seat wherever you like. It's just the five of us today."  
  
The blond man stepped up to the general. "General, why -- " he began, but was cut off by the bald man.  
  
"Why is there a Russian in the Pentagon, General?" he asked, in Cajun tones, as softly as he could. The Russian glanced up.  
  
"The times have changed, LaFitte, the times have changed. Cold War's over. They're our allies now," said the general, but the bald man scowled and took his seat next to the other moustached man. "And we'll get to why you're here in good time, Sergeant Hauser. I didn't just call you hear to chat and reminsice about the old times." The blond man moved to his seat, alone from the others, alone with his thoughts.  
  
The Russian, he looked familiar . . . he knew him from before. He had been a lieutenant back then, hadn't he?  
  
His thoughts were interupted by the general.  
  
"Men, I called you here today because of some troubling events that have occured in the last few days. Cobra, as it turns out was not gone --"  
  
"You dumb suits actually thought they were?" shouted the bald man.  
  
"I will ask you to restrain yourself, Sergeant," said the general calmly, before continuing. "We have received information that they broke into a missile facility in Khazakstan and are in the process of removing a wahead to Cobra Island. Unfortunately, they know that we know, and are unwilling to transport it by air, or, for that matter, any other means. From what we can tell, they've holed up in a bunker in Siberia."  
  
The bald man was furious. "And you let him in here? These Ruskies -- "  
  
"These 'Ruskies' are helping us recover the stolen warhead." He gestured to the Russian officer. "This is Colonel Krimov of the Russian army. You will be working with him in this operation. The rest of what you need will be found in the files which you will be presented with upon leaving this room. They are not to be revealed to anyone. Are there any questions?"  
  
The man with the dark hair spoke up, looking happy, actually. "Are you reforming the G--"  
  
"No!" the general said sharply. "It is just you four, and that is it." He looked around. "If there are no more questions, then, you are dismissed." As they stood to leave, he said, "And this meeting did not take place." 


	2. Ghosts

The two Americans and the Russian left the room, but the blond man lingered.  
  
"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Sergeant?" asked the general.  
  
"You're sending me to Siberia," he said through clenched teeth. "Back to Siberia."  
  
"Listen, Conrad, I know you've had bad experiences there in the past, but you have experience in the region, and you have experience in these bunkers."  
  
"I have 'experience.'" He spat out the word. "Sure I do." The anger was barely being held back now. "You sent me and 5 others over there in '78, and abandoned us! No backup, no radio contact, you ignored the fact that they knew we were coming!"  
  
"This is uncalled for!"  
  
"So was ruining my life! I had a financee! She thinks I'm dead! Everyone else from my squad was, and you had to fucking cover it up! And the only reason I made it out of that hellhole alive was because of a lieutenant who liked me. He probably gave his life to save mine, you know the way that they were back then. And then you tried to leave me there dead, you bastard, but one of the carrier groups accidentally picked up my radio signal before the KGB did, and they were kind enough not to ask questions when getting me out of there."  
  
"Hauser, you're going to Siberia, and that's a goddamned order!" He paused. "Conrad you don --"  
  
"Don't 'Conrad' me. Conrad Hauser's dead. You killed him fifteen years ago." He was at the door now, and turned around to face the general. "My name's Duke."  
  
The door slammed.  
  
Later that night, Duke and the others were at a barracks, closed off from everyone else, preparing to leave. They'd met with the colonel, who was former Oktober Guard. Red Star. They'd agreed to call each other by the code names again, if only for old time's sake. Duke, Gung-Ho, Zap, and Red Star. Going deep into the wilderness of Siberia, to rescue a nuke that was stolen because the idiots in Washington hadn't had the good sense to keep an eye on Cobra.  
  
Duke looked at himself in the mirror as he changed out of his uniform before going to sleep. He ran a hand over the small scar on his left cheekbone, and remembered the one that ran across his back.  
  
"All right boys," shouted a man over the noise of a helicopter's rotors, "We're nearing the drop site now. Remember, if you get in trouble, send out a signal on the emergency band, and we'll get to you as soon as we can. When you get the recon done, send for us, and we'll get you out of here. And if you get caught," he paused, "Just don't get yourselves caught, boys."  
  
They approached the drop site, and one by one the six soldiers parachuted out and into the snow-filled sky. They landed with six thuds on the ground, and then met up. Their leader, a young sergeant, reminded them why they were there.  
  
"OK, guys, we've gotta get some pictures of this new silo up close and personal. The brass wants details. Now, I don't want any friggin' James Bond stunts out here. We get close, we get the pictures, we get the hell outta here." The others nodded. "All right then, lets go."  
  
They trudged on through the snow for about an hour, until one of them raised his hand to stop. The sergeant moved slowly towards him.  
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"Con, I heard something, and it wasn't one of us," he said, looking concerned.  
  
"Do you still hear it?"  
  
"No, it was just that once. I think I was just hearing things."  
  
"OK. Then lets get going." He motioned to start moving just as something whizzed by his ear. A dull thud sounded next to him. The man he had been standing next to was laying on the ground, a blood stain growing on his white fatigues.  
  
"DOWN!" shouted the sergeant. "Hit the emergency signal!"  
  
"The shot came from that way, Con!"  
  
"Then shoot back, dammit!"  
  
Soon the air was full of bullets going by. Hauser could tell that they were outnumbered, but maybe if they held out long enough . . . A chopper . . . theirs . . . he signalled for them . . . the pilot looked down, saw him . . . listened to something in his headseat . . . shook his head . . . shouted something back . . . looked defeated . . . shook his head . . . and it was gone. He lay there, not firing. Soon his men followed suit, he realized his mistake, started firing again, no one else did, he looked at them, all dead.  
  
He screamed at the top of his lungs, threw his rifle aside, pulled a pistol out, and charged, firing away at the Russians. Bullets flew around him, but he kept going, still shouting.  
  
"Killed my men! Bastards! You killed my men! Go to hell! All of you!"  
  
Soon it turned into just a primitive battle cry, a scream, and he was out of bullets, and he kept running, and something hit him in the back of the head  
  
and Duke woke up, sitting in his bed, sweating. 


End file.
